All morning, my eyes are on the clock. Last class finishes at 11:50. Ten minutes to get to the garage before Jonathan gets things rolling. Eventually, the bell rings, and there’s a screech of chairs as everyone gets up. I slam my books and binders into my backpack. I’m out the door and heading down the hallway when someone steps in front of me.
“Yo, Dar!” he says. It’s the blond kid from History class. Mark. I shoulder past him.
“No, wait, man! I just wanted to say,” he says, hustling to keep up with me, “I just wanted to say that I heard you got in trouble with Hassel over me. No hard feelings?”
I shoot him a look as we walk. No hard feelings? I was the one pushing him around. Why is he apologizing to me? The fire doors slam open at the end of the hallway, and we’re outside in the cool autumn air. Mark drops back as I pick up speed, jogging down the sidewalk. From behind, I hear him yell.
“You on the way to the fight, right?”
I spin around. Mark stops, panting. Stupid dog smile on his face. Happy to get my attention at last. He says, “I’m going there too.”
I stalk back toward him, looking around to see who might have heard. Luckily, this side of the street is empty, and traffic is pretty loud.
“You don’t talk about that stuff, you hear me?” I say, getting right in his face. “Ever.”
“Yeah, sure,” he says, smile fading a little.
“I ever hear that you snitched on me about the fights, I’ll hunt you down.” I keep my voice low. There’s a mom pushing a stroller coming toward us.
“I understand, okay?” he says. He takes a step back. “You don’t need to be so intense about it.”
I stare at him a moment longer, then turn around and start heading down the street. A moment later I hear his footsteps and realize he’s still following me. Then he’s right beside me. It’s like having a puppy.
“I could be like you, you know,” he says. “I just need to learn some moves.”
I look over my shoulder at his skinny face sticking out of the big puffy jacket.
“I don’t think so.”
“For real! I’ve been in some fights.”
I snort. “You win any of them?” He doesn’t say anything. “That’s what I thought.”
“That’s why I watch you,” he says. “I want to learn how to win.”
“You can’t learn this stuff by watching,” I say. We round the corner and turn into the alley that leads to the garage.
My shoes crackle on broken glass.
“I know—that’s just it,” he says happily. Like I just proved his point. “That’s what I wanted to ask you about.” I stop at the door to the garage, hand on the knob.
“Ask what?” I say. “I got to get inside—”
“I want you to teach me,” he says quickly. “I want to be your student. Learn everything you know.”
I laugh. “You’re serious?” Then I see his face. He is.
“Get out,” I say. I feel the heat prickling on the back of my neck, the rush of adrenaline. I’m suddenly furious. “Get the hell out of here!”
“Why don’t you like me?” he yells. “What did I do to piss you off?”
“It’s not what you did. It’s who you are.” I let go of the door and turn to face him. “You’re afraid. That’s why people pick on you. It’s like sharks smelling blood in the water, only people smell fear. And you stink of it all the time.”
Mark’s cheeks go from pale white to pink. He turns and half runs down the alley, dodging a spilled-over shopping cart. I screw my eyes shut. What I told him is only partly true.
In a weird way, Mark reminds me of what I used to be. Being afraid like that. Never feeling safe. Growing up scared of the bigger kids in my building. Scared of my dad when he was in one of his moods. It was my dad who taught me that if you want to survive, you turn the fear into fight.
But I’m realizing that the fear never really goes away. And the fighting only makes me feel better for a moment—the electric shock of my fist connecting with flesh. The drunk power of totally dominating someone. But a second later it’s gone, and the fear is back.
I look down the empty alley, littered with garbage from an open Dumpster. Mark doesn’t get it. I’m not pissed off at him. I just don’t want to watch him make the same decision I did.
I shoulder through the door and into the dark garage.
“Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls. For your entertainment and education, I’ve found two of the finest fighters Norfolk Academy has to offer.” Jonathan spins around slowly under the bare bulb. Enjoying, as always, his moment in the spotlight. Fifty or so students, all in school uniform, shout their approval.
“In this corner, our reigning champion, Downtown Dar Stone!” I don’t stare at the crowd, just down at my taped-up hands. The crowd chants, “Downtown Dar! Downtown Dar!”
“And our challenger, Alex the Axe Man Kennedy.” I look up and see that Alex is staring right at me. He’s got focus. And he’s big—about the same size as I am, with broad shoulders. I see Sam just behind him. Looks like Alex is part of the same football crew as Sam. Sam smiles like he knows what I’m in for. I flex my fingers against the tape.
He doesn’t know anything.